


love me none, numb

by asymptotes



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Recreational Drug Use, coachella au, sex in later part(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 08:44:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/685041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asymptotes/pseuds/asymptotes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>zayn doesn't really want to be here but harry is the unlikely stranger that he can't keep his eyes off of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	love me none, numb

**Author's Note:**

> so basically this is a zarry coachella au based off of the song "novocaine" by frank ocean.
> 
> (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TMfPJT4XjAI)
> 
> based on an au idea posted by ziall4evr.tumblr.com

_i think i started something_

it was zayn's first coachella, believe it or not. 

louis finally wore him down this year with all his "come on, mate it's totally your scene" and "you can meet other budding young artists like yourself" and a knowing "frank ocean's got a set, you know."

that's why zayn had a lanyard with louis' radio jobs logo on it around his neck, his wallet hidden safely between the waist of his skinny jeans and the small his back ("jeans?" louis had protested, scandalized. "it's nearly thirty degrees outside!") and his hand shielding his dreary-sky accustomed eyes from the summer sun. he had forgotten his sunglasses in the rental car.

they're approaching the general admissions gate, and zayn begins to scowl.  
he's pretty sure he hears the chorus for that stupid "fun." song blaring in the distance. though he would never say it out loud, in fear of being called out for hypocrisy, zayn hated the whole “hipster music, culture, fashion” idea.

really though, he preferred genuine interest, and organic self-direction. that why he reasoned, he hadn’t quit smoking yet: which reminds him.

zayn was about to search for a cigarette in his backpack when louis grabs his arm, steering him along to the queue of eagerly waiting twenty-somethings. looks around and shakes his head. he hated crowds.

it's been ten minutes before louis is gabbing excitedly about about some irish dude’s set he's never heard of when zayn looks around and sees him.

him, is of course someone zayn's never met.

he always is.

he's beautiful this time, really. zayn notices his eyes first which were an ethereal green. they were clear and bright and scintillating in the sun, just like the stain-glassed walls of the church zayn used to sketch when he was just beginning his art.

he notices the collage of necklaces and strings around his neck second. they rest lightly on his collarbones, which were peeking out of the neck of his loose white t-shirt.

and after the secret bones, zayn notices his skin. it has a pleasant creamy color, and zayn wonders what that complexion would look like with a faint red blush. he imagines the boy’s skin has had a flush in intimate situations before. many times.

how could it not?

last, zayn notices the bounce of his brown locks as he turns his head. to look at him. zayn.

"me," zayn thinks, blinking the sun out of his eyes and turning away quickly.

it's only when the line moves again that zayn look back again. now he's studying zayn, squinting across the distance between them even though the lid of his snapback was shielding all the sun's glare. 

a slow, furtive smile plays on his lips when he realizes zayn's looking at him too and he winks. 

"hello," he says. his calm, yet earnest tone carries over the restless murmur of the crowd.

zayn feels a sinking sensation at the bottom his stomach near his spine. that's when he knows he screwed.

"hi," zayn replies weakly, shyly, betraying himself. then the beautiful stranger nods curtly, and turns to give his ticket at the admission booth, this time a smirk on his lips.

zayn turns away at last when louis announces that they were at the front of the line. 

"finally", he barks, glaring at the people in line behind them, as if it was their fault. louis squeezes zayn’s shoulder a tad as he places their tickets on the counter . "this is gonna be fucking sick, mate!"

zayn doesn't disagree: when zayn looks back in the direction of the stranger, he's gone.

_i got what i wanted, didn't i?_

zayn sees him again three hours later, sitting on the lawn.

he had lost louis, or rather louis had lost him, when he went searching for that irish bloke after his set and left zayn to take the opportunity to have a cigarette.

zayn was back in the general grassy area now, wandering at the outskirts of the mass of concert -goers. he scans the crowd hopelessly, looking for the feathered head of his friend when he saw him.

 

the stranger, of course.

he was sitting right there on the grass, his back curved and his head bobbing lazily to the techno-shit blaring out of the speakers.

this movement highlights the expanse of his throat and his prominent adam’s apple.  
and zayn wants to leave bruises there. 

he steps forward a bit and produces a small cough. quiet, but hopefully loud enough for the boy to note his presence.

zayn’s gut does that weird swoop thing again when the stranger turns around slowly and he sees the sensual twist of sinewy back muscle visible under his thin t-shirt. that brings his eye up to where a pool of sweat mingles with the dark hair at the nape of his neck.

by the time zayn blinks and gathers himself, (get it _together_ , malik.) the boy is giving him elevator eyes with a smug look on his face. 

“h’lo,” he provides in a low drawl. 

the depth of his voice still surprised zayn, hours later.

“hi,” zayn replies a bit too loudly, but still calm enough to seem nonchalant. silence of the worst kind settles for a moment and zayn shifts in his boots and considers walking away swiftly in embarrassment when the guy says:

“you should sit down. it doesn’t seem like you have anywhere else to be,” he squints up at zayn and pats the ground beside him invitingly.

if anyone else had said that, zayn would’ve thought they were being patronizing. but from this his mouth, it sounded like matter-of-fact advice.

zayn takes a seat on the cold lawn before he can change his mind.

they sit there for a bit, basking in the music and the absurdity of the moment. at a instrumental break in the song, the stranger turns to zayn and contemplates his profile.

“i’m harry.”

“harry,” zayn thinks.

he shifts a bit to give harry a head-on look at his face. for some reason he wants him to remember.

“my name’s zayn.”

“that’s a cool name. and that’s”, harry offers, pointing down at zayn’s microphone tattoo, “probably the most original thing i’ve seen or heard today.”

zayn doesn’t have the mental capacity right then to give a witty reply so he just says thanks and chuckles softly.

harry laughs with him too, and zayn can’t help but think that he looks beautiful with his face all crinkly around the eyes and with the dimples and what not. he sneaks a quick glance at his lips too, but harry catches it.

he smiles again, chuckling still and gives zayn an appreciative look, pausing for a second before turning around and rummaging in his knapsack. after a moment, he turns around with a cerulean blue bong in his hands.

to zayn it looks more like an oracle.

harry ducks his head slyly and looks up at zayn through his eyelashes and absurdly curly fringe.

“want a hit or two?”

zayn just nods silently and pulls his lighter out of his pocket.


End file.
